ubject. I'm going over to the Fuels Department."

Dr. Ferber, head of Fuels, met Dr. Brinton at the door of his lab.

"I just got your memo," he said. "Is that budget-butcher really coming
down here?"

Dr. Brinton nodded his head gently. "I'm afraid so. I came over to see
what kind of show we can put on for him."

"We have some samples to run on the indoor motors. There are a couple
of loads left for the acceleration sled. And I suppose if we work all
night we could get a sergeant-major ready, but if he's on an economy
drive that might be too elaborate. Just a view of everybody pouring
stuff from one test-tube to another might be best."

"Do the samples and run the sled once," Dr. Brinton said. "That should
provide enough fire and noise. The rest of it will have to be fast
talk. I think I'll go home to bed."

* * * * *

Dr. Brinton considered himself a methodical man. He had bacon and eggs
every morning for breakfast. He always took a vitamin pill with his
afternoon coffee. And he was used to exactly eight hours sleep. It was
this last habit that caused him to wake up that night at midnight; he
had gone to bed at four that afternoon and habit is a hard thing to
break. At first he thought it was morning, but a glance at his watch
hanging on its illuminated pedestal corrected that.

He grunted, rolled over, and waited for sleep to overtake him again.
Nothing happened. He turned and stared at the ceiling for a while.
Still nothing; he had not felt so wide awake for a long time. Then he
was struck by one of the flashes of inspiration that had made him
famous--he would raid the refrigerator.

* * * * *

Downstairs, he found that his son Eric had anticipated him by two
minutes, and was busy setting the table with cheese, pickles, ice
cream, peanut butter, and everything else necessary to keep a
sixteen-year-old boy operating at peak efficiency. A pile of books on
the table indicated that he had just finished his homework. Dr. Brinton
was pleased that his son had worked so late, but the choice of food
made him shudder. He rummaged in the refrigerator himself, found a cold
pork chop that Eric had somehow overlooked, and bore it to the table in
triumph.

"We were dealt a blow today," he said, between mouthfuls.

"Oh?" said Eric, on guard in case it was about his school work.

"Received word that Senator MacNeill is coming here tomorrow. No,
today--it's